


Give Me a Memory

by Cassiara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Heartbreak, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-24 19:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiara/pseuds/Cassiara
Summary: "History repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done."- Sydney J. Harris





	Give Me a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt:  
A story that would fit with the lyrics of Adele's song "All I ask," particularly these lines: If this is my last night with you/ Hold me like I'm more than just a friend/ Give me a memory I can use/ Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do/ It matters how this ends/ 'Cause what if I never love again?
> 
> Thank you Bittercape for the Beta!

History repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done.  
Sydney J. Harris

"Please," Harry begs. His face is wet with tears already, and he can't stop more from falling.

"You always knew this would happen," Draco sighs, and Harry knows he's right. Draco had never made any promises, and the cautionary tale Sirius told had been ringing in Harry’s ears since he first ran into Draco after the war. After spending the past seven years together though, Harry had let himself hope. A desperate delusion that he and Draco would be together forever. That Draco would love him enough to call off the engagement to Astoria that had been made when they were children, and stay with Harry instead. 

"When?" Harry asks, because anything else is pointless. Draco doesn't need to know how naive Harry has been. How he's allowed himself to imagine a future, one where they grow old together, surrounded by friends who will finally know that Harry is loved, and that he loves someone back.

"The date is set for six months from now." Draco places a hand on Harry's knee, and though the gesture should be comforting, it only hurts.

"So you're mine for half a year then?" Harry asks. He knows there is no use asking for more. Draco would never risk cheating on his wife, and Harry could never live with the guilt. With the shame of being reduced to an affair after being Draco's for seven years. 

“Yes,” Draco says, a sad smile on his face. Harry wonders if it was ever real. He doesn’t know what hurts more, the idea that Draco never loved him - or the thought that he just doesn’t love Harry _enough_.

* * *

_Never tell anyone, Harry. Ever. Your dad and I, we -. Well it doesn’t matter. Nobody approved, not after they found out. I thought we could weather the storm together, you know? I thought maybe love could win out, that it would be stronger than any other magic - like Dumbledore always said. I was wrong. I am wrong, or at least I love wrong. It didn’t win out over anything, it just left me hurting. I’m going to tell you the real story of why I wasn't your dad’s Secret Keeper. Why everyone was so quick to believe I was the one who betrayed them. It was all because of love - what others saw as twisted love. I think I loved your dad from the first moment I laid eyes on him, but I only realised I was in love with him when I showed up broken and bleeding at his doorstep, sixteen years old, and he took me in. _

Harry knew Sirius had believed what he said when Harry told him he was gay. That he’d seen Harry facing the same misery as they had, and had hoped to prevent it. The world had changed though, while Sirius was in Azkaban. And after the war was finally won, it kept changing. Harry wasn’t afraid of being queer. He didn’t mind if people knew - he wouldn’t be hated for it.

_It was a slow thing at first, Harry. I think when I realised I was in love with him I already had been for years. We both cried after the first time we kissed, later that same night. We knew, somehow, that by loving each other we’d forfeit the love of everyone else. It didn’t seem to matter though. I loved him so much the rest of the world lost its colour. Nothing mattered if I couldn’t have him. I guess I should have realised I had so much less to lose._

When Harry starts fucking Malfoy they don’t tell anyone. It’s pure chance really, running into each other at the Muggle club. The sex is amazing though, after years of pent up tension between them. Malfoy isn’t scared to take Harry hard and fast, and he’s not scared when Harry gives as good as he gets. The next time they see each other, at a Ministry function, they do it again. And then again, and again. There isn’t any point telling anyone, Harry thinks, because it’s just sex and it won’t last. It’s not worth the trouble of seeing the hurt in his friends’ eyes at realising he’s being fucked by an ex-death eater. 

_Those first few years were glorious. We were both so young, but we were also fighting a war and I guess that will always blur the lines of age. All I know is we felt older than we were, but also like maybe we’d live forever - if we just won the war. Nobody knew about us back then, I think. Our friends were preoccupied with their own things, and the adults all saw us as two teenagers who couldn’t even begin to understand what love was. It all changed when people started to figure it out. When we finished Hogwarts and moved in together, and people realised that only one of the bedrooms were being used. _

Ron is the first one to find out, years later, when he walks unannounced into Harry’s flat and finds him bent over the sofa begging Draco to fuck him harder, faster. He only calms down after Harry assures him it’s just sex, that it doesn’t matter to him. Ron agrees not to tell anyone, but Harry can tell Hermione knows too, the next time he meets her. The worst part of it all is that while Harry assures Ron about his absolute lack of feelings for Draco, he realises he’s lying. It does mean something, at least to him. The whole thing freaks Draco out. He’d never wanted anyone to know, he says, he has responsibilities. 

_I held on to James with everything I had, clawing and fighting to stay by his side even as the world tried to push me away. The world couldn’t do shit to make me leave, and I suppose in a way the war was lucky. The Aurors didn’t have any time to waste arresting a couple of queers, especially ones that were fighting on their side. I thought if the world couldn’t tear us apart then nothing could. I was stupid and naive. James wanted more than I could offer, I suppose. He wanted the approval of his parents, he wanted you. He wanted the world to look at him with something other than disgust. And well, you know how it ended because here you are. He left to marry Lily. I don’t blame him for it. She was always beautiful. Kind and fierce, and the perfect match for your dad in every way, really. He could have everything he wanted with her, and I wouldn’t begrudge him that. In the end he was the only one that could make me leave. _

“I’d like to tell Ron and Hermione,” Harry says one night, curled around Draco in the bed they share more often than not. 

“They already know,” Draco snorts. “I know it’s been a couple of years, but I’m sure you remember Weasley walking in on us.”

Harry takes a deep breath, relishing in the way Draco’s scent always soothes his nerves. “They know we’re fucking,” he says. “I’d - I’d like them to know it’s more.”

“Oh,” Draco says. He sounds surprised, and Harry can’t help but wonder if it’s because he doesn’t agree that there is more, or if it’s because he’d never thought Harry would want to say it out loud. 

“They’ll be mad. Fuck that, they’ll be hurt,” Draco says. Harry doesn’t think Draco really cares about that. The growing seed of doubt that’s taken place in him twitches at the thought. 

“I don’t care. I’ll deal with that. I just - I want people to know.”

“No.” The word is firm, angry. “Father will disown me if he finds out. I’ll lose my family, I’ll lose everything. I know you can’t -,”

“Can’t relate?” Harry interrupts, “what, since I don’t have a family to lose?” He’s angry, white hot fury burns in his veins, but it pales next to the hurt. The knowledge that this will always have to be kept a secret, if he wants to keep having it. 

Draco sighs, turns over in bed to face Harry and run a soft hand down the side of his face. “I’m sorry Harry, but yes. I’ve got more to lose.”

_It broke me, to stand in the shadows of his life as he lived happily on without me. I didn’t know what was worse; that he hadn’t loved me enough to sacrifice everything for me - or that I wanted him to, more than anything. I pulled away, refused to be his Secret Keeper because I was terrified of what I’d do with the power to go see him anytime I liked. _

Harry spends the months leading up to the wedding trying desperately to cherish each moment. He creates a mental catalogue of how it feels to have Draco hold his hand, kiss his cheek, fuck him, ride him, kiss him. He collects moments like photographs, playing Draco’s soft smile on repeat in his head as he cries into his pillow when Draco is out tasting wedding cakes. 

The time passes too fast, seeming to slip even faster from his fingers as he tries to clutch it harder, to slow it down. Draco goes from tasting wedding cakes to restoring a wing of the manor for him and Astoria to live in, to the traditional courting that usually take place before an arranged marriage. Harry stays in his flat, waiting and ready whenever Draco has a spare moment to visit. He breaks apart again and again, and even when he thinks he doesn’t have anything left in him that’s whole, he keeps breaking. 

He wishes he could go to his friends. That he could ask Ron and Hermione to hold him together, or at least keep him company while he falls apart. They don’t know he’s ruined though, that he’s losing the only thing that truly matters, piece by agonizing piece. They don’t know that every time Draco kisses him, Harry wonders if it’ll be the last. They don’t know Draco fucked Harry in the shower a week ago, and that Harry thinks he’ll never do it again - that there won’t be time. Maybe it would have been better if they’d broken it off as soon as the wedding was decided. Harry would have shattered then, he knows, but maybe that would have been better than this slow tearing. In the end, it doesn't matter. Harry knows he’ll stay as long as Draco will have him, and then after... Harry doesn’t like to think about after. 

The months become weeks become days. Harry cries until he can’t cry anymore, pacing restlessly around his flat, waiting for Draco. When days turn to hours Draco shows up, and Harry knows it’s the last time. It’s nearly midnight, and Draco is getting married in the morning. To someone who isn’t Harry. Part of Harry wants to scream and shout, wants to fall to the floor and sob desperately, wants to beg Draco to stay. This is their last night though, the last chance for Harry to feel loved and love in return. He won’t ruin it by crying or screaming.

“I almost didn’t come,” Draco says. He looks tired, and resigned. Harry knows Draco is sad to lose this too, just not sad enough to give up his family to keep it. That should be alright. Harry shouldn’t expect to be loved above all else just because that’s what he does. Draco is the sun, and Harry is just one of many planets. 

“I’m glad you did,” Harry says. His voice breaks a little, sore from crying and disuse. 

“What do you want?” Draco asks, and Harry can’t suppress the thought that it’s a cruel question. He wants more than tonight, he wants everything Draco won’t let him have. 

“Make love to me like you mean it,” Harry says. “Fuck me like you love me, and then just -,” he closes his eyes to keep the tears in, breathes to steady his voice. “Then hold me until you have to leave.”

“I do love you Harry,” Draco says. Harry doesn’t bother trying to examine if he’s saying it because he means it or because Harry asked for it. It doesn’t matter. He lets the words ring in his ears, trying to memorise every part of them. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, and lets Draco take him to bed. 

_I keep wishing it was me who died that night. That James could have lived on, with you and Lily. That he’d lived long enough to truly experience having everything he wanted. It’s been almost two decades and I still don’t know how to live without him. I still hurt from the fact he wasn’t mine when he died. The only reason I’m still alive is that if James didn’t love me enough to choose me in this life, why would he in the next? It’s better like this, when he’s so out of reach I can’t even begin to let myself hope._

Draco falls asleep after they orgasm, hand still holding Harry’s. Harry stays awake, listening to Draco’s breathing, relishing in the other man's warmth against his skin. He won’t waste a second of this to sleep, not when he’ll never have it again. He feigns sleep when Draco’s wand vibrates and chimes to wake him up. He wonders if Draco will wake him to kiss him goodbye, or say he loves him a final time. Draco is quiet though, slipping out from under the covers and tip-toeing around the room to gather his clothes. Harry waits, hoping that Draco will do something, _anything_ that shows he cares. A whispered word of affection, or a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead. Something that’s just for Draco, since he thinks Harry’s asleep. When Draco is dressed though, he walks out without even pausing for a final look. Harry holds his breath until he hears the crack of Disapparition, keeping his sobs locked in until Draco won’t hear. When he finally exhales he finds he doesn’t want to. 

_Hope is the thing that kills you. It’s what kept me lingering on the edges of his life until he didn’t have one anymore. In some ways I suppose it’s the thing that kept me from dying the night he left me, but it’s been killing me ever since. I won’t survive this war, Harry, and I know that when I die it’ll be with a smile. I just hope it’s one of relief in the absence of pain, not one in the hope I’ll see your dad again. I don’t think my sould could survive being broken like that again._

Harry stays in bed, tries and fails to keep from hoping that Draco will return. That he’ll get to the altar and realise he _can’t_. Time passes though, and when his Tempus tells him the ceremony is over and Draco still hasn’t returned Harry realises Sirius was wrong. It wasn’t hope itself that killed, it was the agonizing pain and humiliation you felt when it turned out there had been nothing to hope for. It was the fact that you’d do anything to avoid letting yourself hope again.


End file.
